


How They Saved Day

by SquishiChaos



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone curses in this fic, F/F, Kevin Day is a little shit, M/M, Multi, Nicky is literal sunshine, Redeeming Seth, Warning for future chapters and some casual slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquishiChaos/pseuds/SquishiChaos
Summary: Kevin sees his life in three parts: his rise, his subsequent fall, and now--here--where he must recover one long day at a time with the help of one flirty mechanic, his shitty partner and a family he didn't ask for.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Kevin Day/Nicky Hemmick, Kevin Day/Seth Gordon, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose, Seth Gordon/Nicky Hemmick
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> The Pacific Rim AU no one asked for, featuring a Kevin/Seth/Nicky pairing...because. The Road this fic takes is likely going to be rough, but fear not, Nicky will help us get through it with his antics. Any and all of you who venture forward with me, thanks for coming along on this journey and I thank you for giving my work a chance! :)
> 
> Without further adieu, please enjoy~!

This was a mistake. This whole operation. This whole decision--all of it. 

When Officer David Wymack first looked at him and asked if he’d supervise pilot training, Kevin should’ve known there was an ulterior motive behind it. There always was. But the thought had never even occurred to him that the Ranked Official would  _ ever _ think of putting the famous Kevin Day near  _ any _ would-be Jaeger pilots after... _ everything _ . 

Yet, here he stood, in a room full of would-be pilots all staring at him like he was some kind of ghost. Maybe he was. He certainly felt like one in this room. Everything about it was hauntingly familiar. The training staves every recruit used to test drift compatibility sat unused on the mat lain flat between the lot of them. The scent of eager sweat and anxious fear sat heavy in the stagnant air, suffocating his lungs with that familiar pressure to perform. Several sets of eyes looked up to him in an unexpected mix of respect, exaltation, and despise. And beside him, shadow hanging heavy as a veil, Wymack looked on the point of an aneurysm waiting for him to open his mouth and spout some famous words of wisdom for the crew here.

His funeral. “This drill is simple,” he began in a harsh tone, glaring at each and every recruit, “but its result is one of the most important in this entire program. No single pilot can move a Jaeger on their own. If you’re not DC with another pilot, there’s no use keeping you trained.” 

“What a dick,” one of the trainees complained. Kevin glared at them. 

“All of you want to be pilots, right? Being a pilot isn’t a job, it’s a sacrifice. Your life means nothing. Your merits mean jackshit. Everything and everyone you ever cared about are in the past once your partner is assigned. From that day forward, your life is your partner, your Jaeger, and the lives you save.”

“Oh, yeah, that explains why  _ you’re _ such a fucking celebrity, doesn’t it?” Kevin found the protester in the form of a male about his height with a glare  _ potent _ with disdain. 

Beside him, Wymack bristled. “Seth, watch yourself.”

“No.” Kevin crossed his arms and met honey brown with narrowed green. “Please, let him dig this hole. I wanna watch him climb out.”

“You sonnovabitch--”

“Seth--”

“I didn’t sign up to be a celebrity,” Kevin informed him pointedly. “I’m famous because I was a damn good pilot who saved a lot of lives. My name is synonymous with my ex-partner’s and my Jaeger’s. All that extra bullshit is on the fans. I have nothing to do with it.”

“Like fuck you do,” Seth grunted. “I bet it must be a nice meal ticket now that your arm’s all fucked--”

“Alright, buddy, that’s enough,” another male trainee cut in. He grabbed Seth’s scruff and pulled him away from the spotlight. “We’re not here to start fights, just to train. Let him speak.” Kevin snorted and the tall man nodded to Wymack. 

The Officer’s sigh sounded like he needed a  _ hard _ drink. Kevin needed one, too. He might need seven or eight after tonight. 

Wymack looked to him like a man carrying the burden of an entire team’s stupidity on his shoulders. “Go on.”

Kevin glared at Seth before addressing the rest. “Today, each of you will get a chance to test your skills. Wymack here will pair you off and we’ll test your compatibility. Every two minutes, we’ll switch partners until everyone’s been around the room once.” Someone had the audacity to whistle. He glared. “Wymack.” 

“Alright, fucktards, listen up! First round pairs are as follows…” He called out a list of names and the candidates all separated themselves to different edges of the mat. There were only eight candidates in this session, leaving a comfortable four sets to pick out their individual staves and prepare for the test coming their way. As they got settled facing each other, Wymack shifted to look at him. “You know, most of these guys have some level of experience, right? They just don’t have partners.”

“Can’t be a pilot without a partner,” Kevin retorted. “I don’t care how they sim. I care how they perform.” 

Wymack’s lips pursed. “I was warned that you were a hardass, but I didn’t expect  _ this _ . I thought you might have a bit more sympathy after your accident.”

Kevin  _ hated _ when people called his injury an  _ accident _ . It made the throb still present in his left arm sound like some unexpected misfortune and not the tragic betrayal it was. But he’d signed the forms. He knew the rules. On paper, it was a heroic deed done to save the only brother he’d ever known, and it was important it always be written that way. 

No one needed to know what a sleaze Riko Moriyama really was. He was a great pilot--arguably the best--and the world  _ needed _ him to survive the rising tide of Kaiju coming from the seas to attack them. Kevin didn’t like it. Riko's new partner certainly didn’t, either. “Well, you thought wrong.”

“A-fucking-pparently,” the Officer huffed. He shook his head and gestured to his mangled hand. Months of physical therapy and three surgeries later, it looked and worked a little like a hand again, but he’d been forced in great part to retire the appendage and work on making his right hand dominant. It was a slow, gruelling process. “How’s that feelin’? Still as useless as it looks?”

He flexed his fingers to a sharp, aching jolt up his arm and into his neck. “I can move it now.”

“Not without wincing, you can’t.” Wymack sighed and shook his head again. “I never thought I’d see the day an injury crippled one of our best pilots. Not someone as careful and meticulous as you.”

Kevin snorted. “I’m hardly crippled. I can still fight on the right side of a Jaeger.”

Wymack stared. “You’re insane.”

“I like to think I’m dedicated,” he dismissed seriously. 

Wymack shook his head and looked back at the trainees. He was wise, for an officer. "You'll need a new partner to operate a Jaeger. Any ideas?"

"A couple. They might need convincing."

"Really?" He asked dryly, "With that friendly personality?"

"Fuck you."

Wymack cocked an eyebrow. "I'm a superior officer, Day."

"Fuck you,  _ sir _ ," he corrected. The man shook his head and gestured at the trainees. Kevin frowned, but decided to humor him. "They're weak."

"They passed the same trials you did."

"Yeah,  _ years _ ago. Kaiju are stronger now. Cat-twos and threes aren't probabilities--they're real. We need cream of the crop, not the bottom of the barrel." He looked at the four pairs and pursed his lips. He jerked his chin at one of the women--shorter, but stocky, with tan skin and her dark hair cut short. "She has promise."

"Dan Wilds," Wymack informed, "she's been recommended many times, but none of the pairings have stuck. Most of her partners wrote her off as too  _ aggressive _ ." He could see why. Dan hit her opponents like a truck, throwing all her weight into each attack. The type of fighter who was used to being underestimated and brought her A-game to the forefront, ready to combat it.

Kevin nodded and looked around the other pairs. He stopped on the pairing that included Seth. The two fighters were the largest bodies on the mat, and they both certainly had skill. The man who had pulled the smartass back was a patient fighter. He held his staff in a defensive posture, but the way he struck showed promise. It was the same way a professional fighter might parry and counter, timed to deflect Seth's might at just the right angle to land a light, but meaningful tap to his flesh.

Seth was the polar opposite. The way he fought was reckless and crude. He swung his stave around like there were multiple opponents surrounding him, wasting the extra energy and leaving himself open and vulnerable. But when he hit, it was clear he hit  _ hard _ . Every time he landed a blow, his partner flinched back. If he learned some control, he could actually be pretty decent, but Kevin didn't have much faith in his learning abilities.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Wymack smirking. "You can admit it, ya know."

"Admit what?"

He jerked his chin at the two. "That they're actually pretty good. Not compatible, but good on their own."

"He is, maybe, but Seth is a waste of space in this program." 

"And what if I told you he's not trying." Kevin glared at him.

"Are you trying to make me hate him? I don't need help."

"I bet you don't. You've got enough chips on your shoulder to feed an army, son." Kevin rolled his eyes and the Officer continued. "Seth comes from a large family, all Brothers, most of them druggies and alcoholics. This was his escape from a similar fate. He has potential to be better, he just doesn't realize it."

"Isn't it  _ your job _ to inspire them all to be greater?"

"The fuck do you think I am? Their coach? Fuck no!" He snorted and shook his head. "These lousy sons-a-bitches are all rejects who deserve more than the gutter they got. They worked twice as hard as half them pilots out there fighting right now. They all think they've got nothing to lose, so they'll risk it all every time."

"Everyone has something to lose," Kevin disagreed, looking down at his hand. He looked back at the mat. "Switch partners. Put the big guy--"

"Matt. His name is Matt--"

"-- _ him _ with Dan."

"And who does your highness think Seth should go with, then?" Kevin glared at him, turning on a heel. 

"I don't give a shit. Pick one." He motioned to the other five lazily before venturing out into the hallway. 

This base was just like every base Kevin had ever been at. The barracks was located in the same section it always was, peculiarly far from the dining hall, like even getting food was seen by the commanding officers as training. Three simulation halls were programmed near the training bays, kept where drifts could be monitored by nearby scientists and medical professionals. The Infirmary was kept by the center of everything, where any breakdowns, mishaps or injuries could be transported in a timely manner for treatment. 

Kevin ignored all of that and let his feet walk him past the ganders and cursory stares, well away from the cadets who stopped for a chance encounter with  _ the _ Kevin Day. Most of them knew him as a war hero, the way the Colonel had introduced him upon arrival to the facilities. He'd treated the transfer like a publicity stunt.  _ Our division will play host to Captain Day for the time being. I expect all of you to learn as much from him in his time here as I hope we teach him of our own tricks. _ If his life in the military hadn't been riddled with beatings every time him or Riko rolled their eyes at one suited official or another, he might've spared the man choice words.

But he didn't need to. Word traveled fast around the community that the war hero, Kevin Day, was  _ not _ a people person. All those smiles he wore when cameras panned to him and his commanding officers forced his hand to do interviews were as fake as the superficial tones he used to answer their superficial questions. He had zero patience for distractions and even less for the fawning cadets who eagerly spouted his stats like he was a trading card to be collected. The first one who had was promptly dismissed without more than a look. The second hadn't been so lucky.

People had learned in the weeks since to yield him the space he commanded. If they wanted his expertise, it was the quickest way to earn his respect, second only to results. But those were in short supply around here.

He keyed into the hangar and quickly stepped between two stunned cadets, dodging through the twisting lanes between machines to the Jaegers held near the back. It was easy to tell the difference between the old, traditional models and Moriyama's finest. Nuclear cores were traded for more efficient energy sources, and the bulky exterior refined into a sleeker, lighter frame with higher durability. They didn't come cheap, but they delivered. Against the tougher Kaiju, they had a record that kept money funneling into Kengo's hands to keep more coming. Soon enough, they'd take the market and crush the competition. Just another day in the Moriyama empire. 

"Hey! If you're just gonna stand there and stare, why not do me a favor, handsome, and pass me that toolbox!" Kevin looked up some two-hundred feet to the cockpit where a figure leaned dangerously from the open hatch. His skin was a shade too dark to be from the sun--especially in this stifling garage--and his even darker curls were held at bay by a flowery bandana. He wore a rainbow shirt beneath a pair of lavender overalls embroidered by what were supposed to be flowers, but looked more like holes from wear. Kevin wished he could say this man was a stranger.

He wasn't so fortunate. "You're not qualified to be up there!" Kevin called, disgruntled.

Nicky Hemmick leaned a bit further out, only kept safe by his hands planted on the inside of the headplate, "then come up here and stop me, Day! I promise I won't put up a fight." He batted his eyelashes. 

Kevin groaned. "You're incorrigible."

"I'm loveable and damn good at what I do! If you have a problem with that, the elevation cable is right there. Feel free to join me for some long, sweaty hours bent over in a cockpit." He pointed at the cable, just in case he needed further guidance, then gave him quite the view as he turned back to his work inside the Jaeger. 

Kevin shook his head and kept going. It wasn't the Moriyama builds he was here for, nor was he interested in traditional models. Talk of the base pointed fingers at something even more exciting. It greeted him at the end of the hall, beyond a locked door that gave easily to his passcodes. Kept separate and alone, the single bot was as magnificent as it was small, standing at a mere one-hundred feet. It was compact, but geared to the nines with all the latest weapons tech could offer and a single-man cockpit built solidly into the head. It was the first of its kind, ready and waiting for someone to test it.

_ But not you _ , that pesky voice inside his head reminded.  _ Riko made damn sure of that _ . He clenched his left hand until the pain nearly sank him to his knees. He hissed and shook it out, shoving it into his pocket as he backed out to the hall and left the way he came. 

  
  


***

  
  


Food was a necessity, but that didn't make the trek to the dining hall any easier. The first week, cadets had personally delivered meals to his dorm in a gesture of hopeless flattery from the Officiates. Kevin had given them a piece of his mind for their useless waste of personnel, but looking back on it, he kicked himself for not swallowing what little pride he had left. It certainly would've been better than walking the mile and a half through the crowded courtyard to the  _ only _ building that served food on anything resembling a schedule.

Did he mention he hated this place? Because he did. He hated  _ everything _ about it--especially the people. They could not stop staring. Kevin knew for a fact he wasn't  _ that _ interesting to behold. He was well-aware from all the talk of late how... _ attractive _ he was, and people never shut up about the number two tattooed in black scrawl atop his cheekbone, but these folks looked at him like he was a Greek god sent to mingle with the commoners. It made his nerves twitch. He could hardly take a piss without  _ someone _ peeking around a corner.

"You look like shit." At least that voice was a relief as much as it was a pain. He had to crane his neck to look down at its owner. 

As always, Andrew looked the part of a troublemaker. At only five feet tall, with a head of blond hair and piercing set of hazel eyes, he had the pressure of a volcano at his beck and call with an attitude to fit. It pained Kevin to  _ know _ he'd be a damn good pilot--ya know, if he didn't threaten every living thing they put within six feet of him.

"Tell me something I don't know." 

His smile was anything but kind. "Wymack is looking for you. Says you should make haste to the administrative offices."

"So soon? Hasn't he already had enough of me?" Andrew shrugged and made sure to bump him as he passed with enough force to stagger him a step. 

"Couldn't tell ya. Personally, five seconds is too much for me." Kevin threw him the bird. Andrew returned it two fold, not even caring to scowl back at him. 

More wasted potential. That's all this operation was. The only  _ good thing _ that'd come from it was a pilot duo so in sync they gave Kevin a run for his money. The press  _ hated _ them almost as much as he hated this place, partially because they were the first female pairing to rock the stage, and for being the first people  _ ever _ to take on a Category three Kaiju without damage to the surrounding area. Kevin applauded them for the task. They were the only respectable part of this accursed excuse for a military base.

But despite being here nearly a month, Kevin had  _ still _ yet to see hide or hair of Allison Reynolds and Renee Walker. Maybe this was to be the fateful meeting.

He knew better than to get his hopes up, yet he felt them rising against his will even as he turned from his arduous trek and in the direction of Wymack's office. It was another mile and a half of gawking teenagers, mingled now with adults who muttered under their breath about his disrespectful behavior.  _ We took him in. He should be grateful. _ If only they knew it was his choice to come here, elusively disguised as a deal between the Moriyamas and the DOD. Then maybe they'd learn to shut the fuck up.

He doubted it. People liked to talk about things they didn't understand. Especially people in command. Like the Colonel! Who just so happened to be standing in Wymack's office as a perfectly good demonstration of how taxpayer dollars were wasted on government shills. He was a nice headpiece, but not much else. Kevin didn't think he could pilot, even if he  _ was _ compatible with someone. 

But he kept up appearances well enough. His smile when he addressed Kevin was just as fake as the one he saw day one, when he could practically see the wad of cash Tetsuji had dumped in his pocket to take in  _ broken goods. _ Of course, that bribe went right back into the player's hands, but it wasn't Kevin's job to spell these things out. He figured everyone knew the truth by now, they just stuck to a  _ rigorous _ don't ask, don't tell policy. 

He bowed his head and stood at attention. The Colonel's smile dipped. "It's come to my attention, Captain, that you intend to resume piloting."

"I never said I didn't," he retorted. Wymack looked sick already, his face an unhealthy shade of pale green. His teeth grit much like his superior officer's.

"Well, regardless of semantics, the point remains the same." He unfolded his hands and refolded them in front of him, "after some discussions, we think it's only fair that you join the other pilots if you're to be finding a partner among them."

Kevin glanced sidelong at Wymack. "Is this kook serious?"

Wymack flared red. "Goddammit, Day, show some fucking respect! This man is a goddamn decorated Colonel!"

Kevin scowled. "You knew who you were dealing with when you brought me on. You had all that time to put me in the barracks and you  _ didn't _ . I refuse to make a room change just because your ego is hurt."

"It's already been done," the Colonel informed happily. "We took the liberty of surprising you while you were busy. We even updated your keycard."

Kevin snarled _, "fuck_ you!"

" _ Kevin _ ."

" _ Sir _ ," he added retroactively, though it did nothing to the horrified look on the Officer's face. Kevin bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood. "That is uncalled for. Transfers are supposed to be discussed and--"

"It was discussed and decided on. You just weren't invited to the meetings." Oh, he felt positively  _ murderous _ . The Colonel glared. "This decision is final. One of our esteemed cadets will take you to your new room. You're dismissed."

"Oh, no, we are not done here! I want--" his protests went unheard as two burly men grabbed him by the arms and dragged him away toward the main barracks. Try as he might, Kevin's struggles went unnoticed all the way across campus. By the time he was deposited outside of his room, he had already long resigned himself to this hellhole of a place. It only got worse when he opened the door and realized there was a bed set aside for a roommate.

Someone was hearing about this. 

But not tonight, clearly. The cadets--for once--didn't stick around to bask in his presence. They left him on his own two feet at the foot of his bed, where all his once meticulously laid out affects were pooled into boxes and bags with his suitcase stuffed full with his pristinely folded clothes. It would take hours to reorganize everything, and another hour to type up a formal complaint for the General herself. That would leave only a couple hours for sleep, with a ten-percent likelihood anyone would be able to rouse him when oh-five-hundred was called.

He grumbled and decided it wasn't  _ that _ petty--given present circumstances--to kick a box halfway across the room. It was a natural reaction to wanting to murder every commanding officer in his vicinity. Was this how Andrew felt? Was this why he was so angry  _ all the time? _

He got it, now. Huh.

He growled when a knock sounded at his door. The urge to tell them to fuck off was a strong one. God forbid if it was some little dweeb coming to welcome him to the fucking neighborhood with a plate of fucking milk and cookies like he was some fucking Santa. But if it was a commanding officer…

He weighed the pros and cons of decking Wymack as he walked across the room to the door. It was a short trek. He'd barely made it to a single con before he had the door whipped open and glare trained on--"Hemmick?"

"Nicky, please. Hemmick is my dad." The Mechanic didn't have a tray of cookies or a single carton of milk. Instead, he stood on his doorstep with an entire  _ tray _ of the dining hall's finest. Fresh meat, a bowl of steamed veggies, a handful of baked bread, and even a little pudding cup, fo if he was feeling especially indulgent tonight. He raised it up another inch in invitation. His smile was timid, considering he'd hours ago offered to fuck in a cockpit. "I, uh, didn't see you at dinner. Figured you might need something to keep your rage boner from burning this place down."

"It's a mile and a half walk here," Kevin groused with a pointed stare.

Nicky merely shrugged. "And the food's getting cold. Take it or leave it, Kevin. Regardless of who,  _ someone _ is eating the fruits of my labor."

Kevin sighed. He took the offering and marveled at how strong Nicky must've actually been beneath his loose overalls. That or he had the unerring endurance of a horse. He hadn't been stingy on the portions--all the finest for the world's greatest pilot. Well,  _ ex _ -world's greatest pilot. "Don't do these fuckers any favors," he grumbled, turning back into the room and shutting the door. 

" _ It wouldn't hurt you to say thank you, Day! _ " Kevin rolled his eyes at the departing fist against his door. Grumbled German tickled the air, slowly drifting off to silence.

He looked at his full meal and back at the door. Alright. Maybe there  _ were _ perks to this move. 

And contrary to what Nicky said, the food--somehow--was still warm.


	2. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing our two newest pilots!

Neil knew it was a bad idea to choose a government facility to loot, but his options were limited these days. Between street gangs looking for easy money and the amount of Jaegers getting destroyed increasing by the day, the number of parts available at his local junkyard stops was depleting rapidly. Soon, only government facilities would be left. It was best he got good at infiltration and retreat  _ now _ , sooner rather than later.

Thankfully, this base was a far cry from  _ protected _ . Given how far inland it was, the possibility of a Kaiju singling it out from a crowd was almost laughable. Clearly, the government thought so, too, if the number of night guards had anything to say. Neil hadn't seen a single one since he snuck onto post, and no more were hidden inside. He might as well have walked in with his head held high and waved a flag while playing a banjo. He didn't think it would make much of a difference.

_ They do realize we're fighting a war, right? Shouldn't they at least be trying? _ He wasn't an expert on many things, but even an idiot could tell this was poor staffing. What if Neil wasn't an innocent bystander coming in to take a couple unnecessary parts? What if he was a bandit or a murder or, fuck, a terrorist or something? 

He shook his head and decided to just count his stars as he crouched down by a scrap pile and began removing any usable bolts and nuts. Any larger pieces of metal were weighed for value and measured for durability by eyes and hands before either being shucked back to the pile or shoved in his duffel bag. There was only so much room left in it for knick-knacks, but he allowed himself a couple finer pieces with little value to his intentions, placing them gently atop his growing arsenal and scanning for any last second bits.

His ears twitched at a sound somewhere behind him. Years on the run from one city to the next came to life like a forest fire in the wind. He was on his feet and zipping up his bag before he could even register if the sound was human or not. He patted it down one time and checked every pocket with a quick hand before he shouldered on the strap and turned.

The bag dropped to the floor with a heavy  _ thump _ right alongside the thud that sounded from his knees hitting the floor. His breath left him so hard he couldn't get his lungs to draw another one for ten long seconds, and when he did, it sounded like a video on pause finally set back to play. He choked on that initial inhale, hand rising to the ache that lingered in his ribs.

A pipe crashed down on the floor beside him right before a voice rang, "well, look what the cat dragged in! Did you  _ really _ think you could just get away, like that?"

Neil dry heaved with a groan. His forehead fell to the hard floor, feeling his insides rearrange to fill the gap left in the wake of his assault. It took everything in him to keep whatever food he'd managed to eat in his stomach and even more to lift his head when he heard the sound of cloth rustling. 

"No," he wheezed, coughing around the word. He trembled on his knees and reached a hand out weakly for his bag. His attacker merely batted his hand away, like a cat swatting a fly. "That's mine...let it go…"

"Nothing is anyone's these days. Thought a street kid would know that better than anyone." He shrugged indifferently, undoing the zipper and flipping it upside down. Neil watched in horror as his entire life fell out of a single bag. 

Hazel eyes turned to him, feigning surprise as he kicked at all the bells and whistles that piled before his mangy boots. "Look at this! You've been a busy bear, haven't you! What a naughty thief, taking all these useless wares from unsuspecting Innocents. You have a plan for these here gems, Mr. Bandit?"

"None of your business! Leave them alone!" He struggled back to his feet, but the man kicked him back to the ground, keeping his boot planted firmly on his chest. His entire demeanor changed on a dime, his manic smile dropping into an emotionless glare. He held a knife in between his fingers, holding it dangerously close to his throat. 

"Nuh-uh. You stay right there." The smile came back in a crawl across his lips, like he stitched it back together thread by thread. "Let's have a look, shall we? I wonder what kind of things a miscreant like you's been up to."

He held the knife unnaturally steady against his skin, tip right by his pulse. Even though his head was turned, Neil didn't dare move. The tension in his shoulders spoke of someone who was ready to act without a second thought, even as he leaned over and picked through his things one tiny bearing at a time.

His voice made Neil sick. "What are you? Some kind of collector? A mechanic, maybe? This is an awful lot of junk with a purpose. You gonna tell me what that is?" Neil stayed silent. He continued, undeterred. "This isn't just stuff, though, huh? I think this is our little thief's undies." He held up the offending garment and waved it over his head a second before tossing it in a random direction carelessly. "Seems like this is even more than a simple change of clothes." He eyed the bag. "Multiple compartments, all of them zipped up tight." 

That hazel gaze pierced into him. The boot on his chest proferred just a touch more weight. "You're more than just a thief. A runaway. You a junkie, too? This just for a nice, quick fix?"

"No! Let me go!" The knife pricked his skin. Neil went still as a stick, lying prone on the ground. Hazel came closer, that scowl right back in place. "Please--"

"I _hate_ that word," his captor growled, drawing a thin line along his jaw with the edge of the knife. "And I don't repeat myself."

Neil bit the inside of his lips until copper filled his mouth. "I-I-I repurpose it."

"Y-y-you're stuttering. Don't lie to me." The knife dug a pinch deeper. 

"I'm not lying! I use the parts to rebuild busted up Jaegers for sale!"

"Oh, yeah?" He sang the words in a tone directly contrary to the glare written in his eyes. "You must be a poor salesman, if you're living out of a single, worn duffel bag." The knife pressed into the soft skin beneath his chin, tilting his head back until his throat was completely bared. "That, or you're lying again. I don't like liars. Liars are numero uno on my shit list, right above sneaky little thieves."

Neil closed his eyes. He could feel his mother rolling over in her grave. Her number one rule was to  _ never _ get caught. It was a very simple rule.  _ Grab what you need and get out. Leave no traces and no trail to follow. Sell everything for whatever you're offered, never look for more. Just enough. Always just enough. _ She'd also warned him to stay as far from the Jaeger business as possible, but he now had proof where disobedience got him. 

But this was a far cry from the punishment he imagined. Didn't most thieves just get a slap on the wrist? "I'm building my first robot," he whispered. "I need parts cheap to--"

" _ Stealing _ is not cheap, Thief. Stealing is stealing. Cheap involves  _ a _ sking. If you had asked  _ nicely _ for these scrapped parts, there are plenty of loveable idiots here who would've happily given an innocent little thief like you everything you always wanted."

"I said--"

"Ah-uh," Neil whined as the knife caught on his skin, "it's not your turn to talk, Thief. Don't interrupt me again." He pressed the length of the knife to the fleshy skin above his Adam's apple and leaned to the side again. Neil felt his stomach plummet when his free hand closed around  _ it _ . 

_ Never lose this. Do you understand me, Abram? Never! This has everything you could ever need to survive. Keep it safe and hidden at all times. Keep it in sight, always. Always, Abram, I'm serious--" _ what's this? The Thief's gone pale. Is this jackpot?"

Neil's blood ran cold. "No, not that. Take anything else--everything else!"

"Anything else  _ and _ everything else is an oxymoron... _ Neil _ ." he opened the binder--his binder--to its first page and scanned the contents. He had scribbled the name Neil Josten on every open space several times over the years as a reminder. He was  _ Neil _ . Neil Josten. Not anyone else. Just Neil. "Neil Josten, huh? I didn't peg you for the crushing type, Mr. Runaway."

"It's me. I'm Neil Josten." He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut when the knife told him to keep quiet. 

"Huh. Didn't peg you for a narcissist, either. Ooh, what's this?" He flipped through the binder like it was a magazine. In a lot of ways, Neil supposed it was. On every page there were pictures and statistics about Kaiju attacks since the day he lost his mom. There were only numbers and names for most of them, but the information expanded into obsessive territory when it got to his studies on Jaegers. 

The Blond must have reached that point, because he went impossibly still and lifted the knife from his neck. Tucking the binder under his arm, he stood to his full height before reaching down to grab his collar. He only removed his foot to drag him to his feet, holding tight enough he had to gasp in each wheezing breath.

His smile was positively malicious. "It's your lucky day, Neil. All your dreams are about to become true." Then, he dragged him away, one stumbling step at a time.

  
  


***

  
  


Kevin was really fucking tired of people waking him up before his alarm clock. It was bad enough he could barely wake up as it is,  _ why _ did they  _ have _ to make it worse? At least the alarm clock's function was to ruin his life, and  _ it _ was expendable. Arguably, people were not--though, at  _ fucking three thirty in the godfucking morning _ , he was ready to argue the  _ very _ expendable nature of man.

He grumbled as the hand slapped his cheek until his eyes stayed open, a familiar voice whispering, "hey, Kevin, hey, wake up! I found your biggest fan!"

"Andrew?" He blinked blurrily at the blond and grumbled brokenly. "Three-thirty? This is low, even for you!"

"Nothing is too low for me, Day! Oh, and what a  _ fine _ day it's bound to be! Look, I brought you a friend almost as obsessed with you as  _ you are _ !" Kevin had to blink several times to adjust his brain back to the land of the living. He looked beyond where Andrew stood half over his bed to the shadowy figure he pointed to huddled by his door. Dark eyes stared at him from the darkness, reminding him of--"this is Neil Josten! He was carrying  _ this _ with him!"

Kevin looked at the sizeable thing he dropped in his lap and reached for the lamp on his right. The figure moved quickly in the darkness, dashing in until Andrew pushed him back hard enough he crashed with a loud  _ thud _ into the wall. Andrew pointed one of his famous knives at him. "Neil, stay, Neil. Don't move. Move again and I'll start collecting disobedience fees."

"Don't joke about that," Kevin grumbled irately, flicking on the light. He hissed, as did his two companions.

"Not joking," Andrew clarified. "He has slim fingers--a thief's fingers. We could make them into good luck charms for the pilots. I bet Riko would--"

"Riko can collect his own fingers," Kevin growled, even more on edge than before. "Let's not do him any favors if we can help it." He sighed and humored Andrew with a brief glare before opening up the binder. 

He didn't see what all the fuss was about. Lots of people these days collected useless information about Kaiju and Jaegers. People all around the city had tabs on him everywhere he went, telling paparazzi bands where to go for a hot scoop. Seeing his own face taped onto a school binder was nothing new or worrying. Even seeing Riko's smug glare standing short beside him was nothing  _ too _ unnerving. They were all news clippings from all his years as a pilot, going as far back as the first day him and Riko had been named to the division.

But the farther he turned, the more on edge Neil became. Kevin felt his anxiety growing from feet away, glancing in his direction between pages, wondering what the hell his problem was. Did he expect Kevin to get mad? To give him a fucking autograph? Thank him for being kind enough to follow his every move from puberty up into adulthood?

He turned another page and sighed, "I don't see the big deal. Lots of people are obsessed with me."

"See?" Neil griped, voice harsh with a bite. "Now, give it back!"

"Hold on." Andrew didn't take his eyes off Neil, but he jerked his head at Kevin. "Turn five more pages." 

Kevin sighed, but obliged, if for nothing else than to be left alone. His grip faltered when he saw what stared back at him. 

It was an article from a  _ very _ debatable source, written a year ago, right after his accident. While the main papers and websites were all quick to sympathize with the loss of  _ the greatest team known to the world of Jaegers _ , this author wrote a different tale. A tale about troubled kids who grew up in the shadows of their parents, always in front of cameras and inside the belly of Jaegers. Two boys who sought to be the best and became it, until  _ two _ was just  _ too much _ .

Kevin inhaled sharply, dropping the binder and pushing it off his lap. He could still recall the  _ images _ when that Kaiju came for him. Riko  _ knew _ he would dodge. He  _ knew _ he didn't have time to. He  _ knew _ that people had dared say he might be the better pilot. But nothing would ever compare to the feeling, right before their connection was severed, of Riko's unfettered relief.

He shuddered violently and hopped to his feet. "Who the  _ fuck _ are you?"

Neil glared. Apparently, Mr. Nice guy was gone. "None of your fucking business! You had no right to go through my things!"

"Technically," Andrew corrected, "they're not. You stole all of it."

Neil rolled his eyes. "Not  _ all _ of it."

"Semantics," Andrew dismissed. He looked at Kevin. "That article for real? Did Riko  _ really _ mean to kill you?"

Kevin swallowed. "If he did, he failed. I'm still alive."

"But you're crippled," Andrew merrily reminded with a quick flick to his arm. Kevin stifled the yell out of habit, folding his arm to his middle with a gasped expletive. Andrew smiled. "You can't fight in your condition."

"Yes, he can," Neil protested, "on the right side of a Jaeger, he can." Why was the  _ thief _ the only one who understood him?

Andrew rolled his eyes. "No one would willingly get into a Jaeger with the sacrifice. Besides his unflattering personality--"

"Like you've got any fucking room to talk, midget--"

"--if that article is right, Riko will pool all his resources into destroying any person who does. No one is insane enough to indulge him."

"I'd pilot with him!" They both glared and Neil glared right back. "I would. I'm not afraid of Riko Moriyama."

"You should be," Kevin griped. "No one would bat an eyelash if he killed you. They might even say good riddance." 

"Please, don't threaten him with a good time. The kid is clearly not right in the head, Day. Took one too many shots to the head, maybe."

Neil turned brown eyes on him. "Fuck you."

"Not interested." He folded his arms and smiled manically at Kevin. "So? What about you? How will Riko react when you get back in a Jaeger without him?"

Kevin tried not to think about that. The obvious answer was  _ not well _ . In public, Riko would scoff and write it off as Kevin living up to some weird hero complex.  _ I favor my right side. Without his left, our compatibity is shot. He can't keep up with me, now, sad as that is to say. _ But in private, Riko would be  _ hell _ to deal with. His temper would cause more than a few bad days for a lot of people who didn't deserve it. 

Oh? What's this? Guilt? Kevin grimaced.

Andrew rolled his eyes again. "Seems your dream is a void, Junkie. Kevin's too afraid of Riko to get back in the cockpit. Even if he wasn't, no one would be up to his high standards. The world will slowly forget about Kevin Day and the legacy of broken pilots he left Riko to play with."

Before Kevin could even open his mouth to argue, Neil beat him to it. "Riko isn't the best. He's a stuck up, pompous little git who uses people to make himself look better. He doesn't deserve to be a pilot."

Andrew jerked a bored thumb at Kevin. "And Day is any better? You've met him. You think he wouldn't sacrifice you to a Kaiju?"

Neil looked at him one long, quiet minute. He held his green gaze  _ too _ steadily, like he was used to looking at Death and escaping. Wymack's words rang in his ears,  _ they all think they've got nothing to lose, so they'll risk it all every time. _ Neil  _ had _ nothing to lose. Only a binder with his name and Kevin's legacy in it. 

Neil broke the silence. "He'd make sure it killed me." He looked at Andrew. "He doesn't leave messes behind."

The Blond snorted. "You hear that? The kid called you a mess! You gonna take that, Day?"

"Only if he becomes a trainee."

Andrew scoffed. "Excuse me?" 

Neil stared. "...what? Me?"

"Yes, you." Kevin stepped forward until there was hardly space between them. "I'll train you to be the best. Give me your future and I'll find you a partner and a Jaeger."

Neil looked like the ground had just fallen beneath his feet. The fact he was still standing was amicable. "B-but I...I can't. I don't--I'm not--I have  _ things _ and a project and-- _ no _ ! No! I--no!"

"We heard you the first time," Andrew grumbled. Kevin shook his head and pointed at his binder.

"No one keeps that much information about something without a reason. You want to be me, right? To be better than me. Well, here's your chance. No one knows the industry better than I do. I can have you top of the charts in six months, tops."

"What part of  _ no _ don't you understand? I'm not doing it! I can't!"

"Can't or won't?" Kevin pointed at his binder again. "Tell me this isn't everything you've ever wanted. Look me in the eye and say no."

Neil looked at him for a solid five minutes without saying a word. He could see him struggling to find some reason or excuse to deny him. The struggle looked painful and unending, a million hoops that just kept coming. But, in the end, he dropped his gaze and lowered his head. 

Kevin smirked unkindly. "We'll register you in the morning. You'll sign every paper Neil Josten and your future will be written in stone. From then on, you'll be mine to sculpt, Neil."

"This is a bad idea," the boy whispered. Andrew snorted and Neil looked at him a long moment. "This whole thing is a mistake."

"It's a mistake you're making," Andrew dismissed. "Kevin will make you the perfect robot in no time. You'll be eating out the palm of his hand."

"It's not a mistake," Kevin corrected. "You're a runaway, right?" Neil stiffened, but chose not to answer. That was answer enough. "You're running from something--"

"Someone--" Andrew supplied.

"--but they can't get you if you're a pilot. You'll belong to the military. Any damages will be a direct offense against the Government. Even Riko will have to jump through hoops to get a piece."

"What about you guys?" Neil glared at them both in turn. 

"This isn't a deal," Kevin dismissed. Andrew stepped between the two of them, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Kevin glared. "Seriously? You're humoring him?"

"I don't trust him. I think he's hiding something, maybe something even bigger than his crush on you, Day." His lips quirked. "Wow, it really  _ is _ a big day, isn't it? My, so much excitement! Kevin, you must be so proud!"

"Of what? Not following."

Andrew turned to face him. "I'm going to be Neil's partner."

Kevin's eyes widened in surprise. Neil glared. " _ No! _ Anyone but him!"

When his expression settled, Kevin nodded. "Alright. We'll test your compatibility in the morning, at oh-nine-hundred sharp."

Neil gaped in disbelief. Andrew smirked, grabbing his arm and dragging him to the door. "You're going to regret this, Day. Oh, what a wonderful day it'll be, too!" He touched two fingers to his temple in a mock salute, then closed the door with a light slam. 

Kevin grumbled. He  _ hated _ everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Look for more in the coming days!


	3. Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: For Seth using inappropriate slurs and Andrew being...Andrew.

The next morning came a lot quicker than Kevin wanted to admit. Just as he was slipping back into sleep, his alarm was going off. It took a record amount of time to roll out of bed and get himself dressed for the day. It was a surprise to all when he appeared in the dining hall before last call, his short black hair slicked back by water and green eyes notably sharp. He grabbed his breakfast amongst silent stares and found a quiet table all alone to sit and eat.

"Do you always eat alone?" He groaned. Nicky stood there, tray in hand and easy smile stretched across his lips. He was actually dressed to code today, wearing military sanctioned coveralls with the top half tied around his waist and toned arms displayed in his white tank top. He was way too chipper for this early in the morning. "Even you must get lonely."

"I prefer my space." He glared when the Mechanic promptly ignored his hint and placed his tray down. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Eating with you. Is that a crime now?" He stabbed a strawberry with his fork and batted his eyelashes as he sucked it into his mouth.

"It should be," he grumbled. "I don't want you here. Go away." Nicky shrugged.

"Sounds like a you problem, Kev."

"Don't call me Kev. It's Officer Day to you."

Nicky smirked. "In my wet dreams, maybe. Speaking of, you ever gonna help me Christen a couple of those fine Jaegers? They get mighty lonely when a boy's all by himself." 

Kevin waited until he'd chewed and swallowed his mouthful before returning, "no." He kept it at that, annoyed when Nicky just shrugged and continued talking. Did he have an off switch? Did he talk this much when he was having sex? Oh, god, why would he even question that? He wouldn't wish this torture on _anyone_ , not even _Riko_. 

Was he _still_ talking? He looked up to see that he was, in fact, still going off on a tangent, hands flailing about emphatically. How he managed to still take bites and not choke was beyond him. How did he even find time to breathe? 

"Ah, Hemmick! There you are!" Kevin grumbled. The urge to slam his face into his oatmeal was dangerously high. Was it a sin to ask for a little fucking peace and quiet in the goddamn morning? 

Glaring up at the new figure, he frowned at Lieutenant Roland. He was a groomed official, well-known for his work with getting more people with rough backgrounds into Wymack's caring circle. Loathe as Kevin was to admit it, Roland was a good soul, just like the Lieutenant Colonel. He was just nicer about it. 

Apparently, him and Nicky were...friends. "Roland,  _ please _ call me Nicky! You know I hate that name."

"Then you should change it. You can take mine," he said with a wink, leaning on the back of his chair. Nicky  _ actually _ giggled. Fucking  _ gig _ gled, like a teenager with a crush. 

"Stop it, Roland! You're making me blush!"

"Oh, you mean you're not always this flushed? I'm flattered!" They laughed like a couple of old girlfriends. Roland pet his fingers through Nicky's curls. The mechanic leaned into the touch. "But seriously, you're needed in the hangar. One of the Jaegers just came back off patrol. It needs some minor maintenance, but they're scheduled to be out this evening. Mind handling it for me?"

Nicky batted his eyelashes with a wicked grin. "Anything for you, Rolly!"

"Good boy." Nicky purred at him as he gave his head another scratch. 

As soon as he was gone, Kevin glared. "I think you should be going now."

"I will," he grumbled, eating with more haste than earlier. "I gotta eat, though. I won't get another chance once I get started."

Kevin took a moment to really stare at him. There weren't many mechanics at this base in general, let alone to allow for breaks. Even at bases that did, most of the crew he remembered were a dedicated bunch, forgoing sleep and food to work late hours maintaining Jaegers at full capacity. It wasn't uncommon to see them sleeping on benches between shifts or missing showers for days on end just to finish a repair. 

Nicky looked like he took relatively good care of himself, but the signs of wear were there. Long hours in a sweaty cockpit did numbers on a person. Fatigue. Loneliness. Insanity. Kevin had been taught each one to keep an eye on himself during grueling missions. It was important to know when it was time to call in back up and when it was safe to continue. He wondered if Nicky knew about them, too, and if it was even his place to ask. 

He opened his mouth, but Nicky was already up, his half-eaten tray scraping across the table. "Welp, gotta run! Thanks for keeping me company, Day!" He winked and sauntered off, leaving his tray on a garbage can before racing back out the double doors. Kevin made himself a mental note to talk to him about proper dieting, then promptly forgot it.

He finished his food without anymore interruptions, happy to return his empty tray to its stack. It was only oh-seven-thirty, leaving an hour and a half before training was set to begin. He decided to take some of that time to do some more exercises with his hands, retreating to his room to do so.

Physical therapy was one of the few things that kept Kevin going during the hardest parts of his recovery.  _ You might never regain use of your hand _ had sounded more like a challenge than a prediction. He threw himself into each exercise like he once did his training, spending long hours in his room repeating the same motions until his muscles were sore and fingers aching. It was harder, still, to train his mind away from instinctually reacting with his left hand at every twist and turn. He sometimes still reached for pens and closed his fingers around them, only remembering when pain dulled his senses. 

But he was slowly getting better. The likelihood he would be on his dominant side again was still far from reach, but his right hand was more coordinated and smooth. Writing was a challenge more than eating or fighting, the letters refusing to curl off his fingers in patterns that were familiar. Half the time, he scribbled signatures to save himself time and effort, and the rest he left to the keys on a keyboard. 

Luckily, no one expected many reports from him now that he was defective.

In the safety of his new room, with the door closed and locked, he leaned back against the wall and sighed. The pain from Andrew's flick still lingered in his wrist, throbbing each time he so much as shifted the arm. It would hurt more after his exercises, but the pain was a promise of something greater.

Even still, he started on his right. In the beginning, the doctors had insisted he do so to balance the strain on his shoulders. They didn't want him anymore fucked up than he already was, and he didn't blame them. He'd returned that day a wreck, in more ways than one. The more distractions, the less time he had to ponder how meaningless life felt without a Jaeger to call his own. The more exercises, the closer he got to feeling normal again.

He still wasn't normal, but it was a sure thing. Kevin was confirming it day by day. Even if he had to retrain every aspect of himself to do it, he'd do it. That included squeezing a towel in his fingers and writing the alphabet until his fingers hurt. It also included grabbing a towel from his bags and clamping teeth down on it while he worked with his left, body trembling with pain and nerves liquid with it. 

He pushed and pushed, rigorously going through each and every step, until he at long last let his arm fall limp and spent by his side, spitting the towel to the floor. He winced, just tired enough to  _ almost _ touch his sore shoulder before he remembered, grabbing his hair instead. He glanced briefly at the clock and swallowed thickly. 

Grabbing his jacket, he shoved his keycard and wallet into his pocket, then beelined for the training rooms. They were closer to the barracks than anything else, only a couple long halls away. Within minutes, he was opening the door to their previous room and looking over the candidates inside.

Wymack looked positively  _ venomous _ . "Day, mind explaining to me why the  _ fuck _ that kid is here?" He pointed vaguely in the direction of two very familiar figures. While Andrew was  _ sort of _ dressed for training, Neil was very much so not. He still wore stolen clothes over soiled skin, and his dark eyes were looking at Wymack like he was a bear instead of a man. 

He feigned innocence. "Which one? There're a lot of kids in here."

"Don't you play smart with me, asshole! You might think you're some hot shot tycoon bitch boy, but this is still  _ my _ operation! That means no one comes in or goes out without my fucking permission, do you read me?" When he didn't immediately answer, Wymack bristled. "I said, do you  _ fucking _ read me, Captain Dipshit?"

"Yes, I heard you, fuckwad. The whole damn building can probably hear you when you yell."

"Good! Maybe one day, someone will fucking listen!"

"Don't get your hopes up." Kevin turned away from him and looked at the remaining trainees. He was surprised to see that Wymack had already cut some--most, in fact. The only ones left from their last session were Dan, Matt, and--"why is  _ he _ here?"

"Because this is my operation and  _ I _ say he has potential. If you've got a problem with that, then get the fuck out." He jerked his head at the two recruits. "Who the fuck is he?"

"Oh, him?" Andrew jerked his thumb at Neil. "He's a thief. A thief with a major boner for Kevin here. Has an entire art book dedicated to his long, outstanding career."

"Faggot," Seth barked. Neil rolled his eyes.

"I do not have a crush on Kevin. He's a good pilot. He was my idol. Kids have idols, unless they're sociopaths, like you." He directed that at Andrew specifically.

"That still doesn't answer my question. The fuck is he doing here, and the fuck is his name? Is he even legal?"

"He will be," Kevin said, "once he signs the papers."

"Oh, hell," the Officer grumbled, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a flask. He took a swig and quickly hid it back in his pocket. "Alright, three orders of business. Order one,  _ fuck _ every single last one of you asstards for coming into my goddamn life. I hate every last one of you and you're officially pains in my ass."

"My, aren't you great at flattery," Andrew deadpanned. Wymack actually flipped him off.

"Order number two, no more recruits without my fucking say so! I am not a babysitter. I am not looking to be a dad any time soon. I don't want you kids anymore than you want me, so we're closing the book here at six."

"Five."

"According to your new address, six." Kevin scowled. Wymack smugly turned back to the rest. "Final order of business," he paused just long enough to clap his hands, loudly, "take one big look at this shitty ass room! This here is where the lot of you are gonna be training until I deem you fit for simulation training! Here, we're gonna be one big ole happy family while we beat each other with sticks and try really hard to kill each other so  _ I _ don't have to deal with anymore of your  _ goddamn bullshit! _ So," he paused again, his smile forced, "get fucking comfortable and let's get down to business. New kid, whatever the fuck your name is, come with me! You've got paperwork to fill out!" He looked pointedly at Andrew. "No play for you until I get home."

The door clicked shut behind Neil and Wymack, leaving the five remaining subjects to all glare at each other. Kevin had hoped this introduction would go a little better. In an ideal universe, it wouldn't be him teaching them how to fight, but someone better suited for the patience of an instructor--definitely not Wymack. Unfortunately, though, there was no one else at the moment.

So, he swallowed his thoughts and looked pointedly at the staves. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get to work!" Dan and Matt were the only ones who moved. They each grabbed a stick and retreated to a corner, wasting no time getting settled before clacks echoed from their little circle. He looked at Andrew and Seth expectantly. "I'm not opening another invitation. Either train or leave."

"You see," Andrew began, an unnerving smile stretched across his lips, "I would, Kevin, I really would, but you see, Kevin--still with me here?--my partner got dragged away and I was given a direct order not to touch a staff until your commanding officer gets back. Are you hard of hearing? Did you miss that? Hello! Can you hear me up there?"

"Fuck you, Andrew. We both know you don't give a shit about his orders."

He snickered. "Then, I'm just doing it to annoy you. I'm really enjoying how upset you look right now. Don't like having authority used against you, Day? How unfortunate."

"Do you two need a room? This shit is getting fucking weird," Seth grumbled, crossing his arms. Kevin honed in on him.

"What's your excuse? You too stupid or something?"

"For your information, Captain Fuck Nugget," Kevin rolled his eyes at the name, "I ain't got a partner since  _ Shorty _ here decided you ain't worth his time."

"You're not, either," Andrew told him sweetly, that strange grin still resting on his face. Seth glared. 

"Go suck a dick, ya fucking midget." Andrew turned on a dime and advanced quickly enough Kevin almost didn't see it. Seth clearly didn't, either, because the hit knocked him clean off his feet. He hit the ground  _ hard _ and Andrew wasted no time pressing his chest into the ground with a booted foot.

His entire persona had flipped like a coin. The manic disaster that stood there and smiled now peered at Seth with a straight face, eyes hard and knife glinting between his fingers. Dan and Matt both watched with wide eyes, neither daring to move or continue. 

Andrew's voice was a deadly drawl. "What was that, Seth? You know, I hear that tongues are really painful to lose. They say they bleed so much, the victim can die in minutes from blood loss. Should we find out? Think you'll choke before you pass out?"

"Andrew, don't." Those solid eyes turned to him. He leaned more weight on Seth, keeping the wide-eyed Brunet pinned. "He's not worth it. You know he's not."

"You know, maybe I'll collect yours, too. You talk an awful lot for a crippled waste of space." He dragged his foot off Seth and placed his foot down quietly. Kevin watched the larger boy scramble away, nursing his injured jaw. Andrew crossed his arms, knife already hidden away. 

Within seconds, like clock work, Wymack stormed into the room and looked angrily around it.

He pointed a finger at Andrew. "Did he do anything stupid?"

"Wymack! I'm  _ hurt _ !"

"The fuck you are," he grumbled, eyes on Kevin. 

He looked at him and easily lied, "not at all. We were just discussing the Bastard sized dilemma in the room." He gestured boredly at Seth. "What are we doing with him?"

"Training him, obviously. He has potential, and I'm not about to squander it because  _ you _ don't like him."

"Two way street. He doesn't like me much either."

"Does anyone like you?" Seth shot back icily.

Kevin's smile was bitter. "Nicky certainly seems to, if his advances are anything to go by."

Seth rolled his eyes. "That homo likes anything with a cock. He'd probably take it from a dog if it showed a little interest."

"Seth," Andrew sang merrily. "That's not very nice."

"Oh, fuck you, midget! Go blow your little boy toy and stay the fuck away from me." Andrew looked at him meaningfully, then turned to Neil.

"You hear that? You're officially my new toy! Go fetch a stick, Neil, it's time to play!"

"Fuck you, asshole."

"Still not interested." Kevin groaned. Wymack did, too.

"That's enough talking--from all of you! Neil, Andrew grab your shit and start training. Seth, you're with me. Kevin, keep your goddamn opinions to yourself if you ain't got nothing nice to say." He pointed a warning finger at him, then grabbed his own staff and dragged Seth over to a corner to begin their lesson.

Kevin wasn't sure where to begin with this crew. Matt and Dan were already compatible in a way that took most fighters years. While the tall man played a high defense, Dan pushed forward with an offensive streak that kept his guard up, searching her for cracks to exploit. Every time he found one, she defended it at the last second, turning the tables and barreling into his next wall in an unending cycle. In a Jaeger, their dance here on the mat would be quite a sight to see. Against a Kaiju, it might be just the balance to escape serious casualties.

On the other side of the mat, Seth was still too gaudy in his style. He moved like someone playing a game, mimicking real life in exaggerated efforts to increase the tension. He was easy to read and even easier to predict. It was like he had a rotation he worked off of: wide swing, downward arc, upward stroke, another roundhouse swing. Wymack learned it within a single cycle, easily finding grooves to chip at with quick, flawless pivots. Each one exposed a new weakness, until he had Seth flat on his back, pole aimed at his throat.

Kevin rolled his eyes, but he kept his opinions to himself. 

Until he saw Neil and Andrew, that is. Because there was no way in  _ hell _ he couldn't comment on  _ them _ . "What the fuck are you doing?"

The room paused to look at the pair in question. Andrew stood in the same cocky manner he normally did, though he held the pole along the line of his shoulders, wrists hanging over it. Before him, Neil was laid flat on his back, staring up with  _ furious _ brown eyes. He completely ignored Kevin's question. "What the  _ fuck _ , asshole?!"

"What? You think a Kaiju is gonna take it easy on you? Gotta get used to them hard hits, Junkie." Andrew's smug tone drifted lazily through the room as he swung the staff off his shoulders and down into stance in one graceful movement. 

Neil crawled to his feet and held his own at attention. Before he could even set his feet, his partner swept the end of his staff behind his ankles and yanked him back down to the floor with a pleased little laugh. The Brunet growled, "that's cheating! At least give me a chance to--"

"A chance to what, Josten? To find your center and reach Nirvana? You think an opponent is just gonna wait for you to get your shit together? News flash! They won't! Now, get up!"

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck  _ me? _ Neil, I'm  _ offended. _ Here I am, trying to teach you an important life lesson and you tell me to--"

"Shut up!" Kevin flinched at the loud  _ crack _ that sounded throughout the room. Neil had no technique, but he certainly had a surplus of anger to his benefit. Too bad Andrew had the reflexes of a cat. His strike could have blinded someone who didn't expect everyone to attack them. "I am sick of your fucking attitude!"

"Are you? Really? You've barely dealt with it a day, tho." The Blond circled his staff with his own and pushed him back at the ground, holding his own like a stake readied for a heart. When he plunged, Neil rolled and knocked it away with a hard swipe, immediately turning into a vicious swing. 

Andrew caught it with a manic grin. "Ooh, look at you! So tough! Who taught you how to fight?"

"The fuck does it matter to you?" He ducked to the other side of their crossed sticks and pressed his weight into the match. Andrew grabbed at his shirt, but Neil pulled away, hardly wasting a second before he dashed in again. He was quick, feigning for the left and then quickly arcing right. Andrew hit his staff hard enough to stagger him back, then forced the end behind Neil's block, dragging him in close.

Andrew shrugged indifferently, not allowing Neil an inch. "It doesn't, but Kevin is gonna be upset if his little deal falls apart. He's insufferable when he's mad."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Blow me."

Andrew glared at him. "Wait your turn." He smiled menacingly at Neil. "See? Look at how upset Kevin already is! He wants  _ results _ . Can you give him  _ results _ , Neil?"

"Can you? Do you even care?"

"Of course not." He chuckled openly, "what is there to care about? People die every day, Neil."

"That's no excuse! You're a pilot! You should care about the lives you save!"

"And what about the ones we don't save, Neil? Do you want me to care about them, too? You think a pilot can just save everyone? Are you really that naive?"

Neil grit his teeth and tightened his grip on his staff. Shifting his foot forward, he rebalanced himself. "No. I know we can't save everyone." 

"Do you? Really?" Andrew leaned his head forward, meeting him inch for inch. "Then, what's the point of saving anyone if you can't save them all?"

Neil shrugged in the same indifferent manner Andrew had seconds before. "What's it matter? It's not like  _ you _ care who lives or dies." 

"Oh," Andrew's grin grew big and unkind. "Oh, I don't like you, Neil. I really think I don't like you!"

"Good. At least we agree."

Kevin shook his head as Wymack snorted. Like a switch, the two of them suddenly noticed the room at large. Andrew pushed Neil away from his space and put his staff down at his side like a cane to lean on. The Brunet glared at him, still holding his to his chest like it put invisible space between him and the blond. The Officer crossed his arms and looked at both. 

He looked up at Kevin. "Guess it's your lucky day. Seems your team is compatible after all."

Kevin crossed his arms and glared at the both of them. "They're still nowhere near ready." He jerked his chin at their staves. "Again. This time, why don't you try working together instead of killing each other."

"Yeah, good luck." Neil hissed.

Andrew smirked at him. Toward the back of the room, Matt whispered, "fifty bucks says they can't do it."

Dan glared at him. "Hundred says they can."

Wymack glared at all of them. "Two hundred to everyone who shuts the fuck up for the rest of the session."

Everyone walked away two-hundred dollars richer, except Matt, who had an extra fifty on top.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoyed!


	4. Day 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil's life has been hard--or so he thought. Somehow, this whole pilot thing isn't all it was cracked up to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I didn't put enough stake into how violent I am prolly gonna make Andrew be, so I'mma have to fix them tags. So, for now, WARNING: Andrew. I think that should really be warning enough.

The sky above him was angry with the roar of fighter jets and helicopters, the air disturbed by each thunderous boom and bang of soldiers on the ground, racing toward the epicenter of another ruined city. Survivors ran around like an angry hoard, looking for any escape they could from the stampede of tanks and high capacity personnel carriers. Dirt and broken concrete crunched beneath Neil’s feet, occupying any silence that wasn’t already taken by the voices screaming and throats retching up love for lost friends and family. 

Everything smelled like burned flesh and sea water. His stomach rolled in the combination, eyes stinging with every choice swallow to keep the bile at bay. Rescue ops peeled bodies from the wreckage like velcro on a shoe, the sound hauntingly loud in the departure of rumbling engines and flapping wings. Neil almost threw up again, but he swallowed it down, racing as fast as his legs would take him toward the beach--away from the acidic burn of blue Kaiju blood and the rubble of another city lost to a  _ natural disaster _ . 

_ There’s nothing natural about that, _ he thought, legs giving out the instant his feet caught on densely packed sand. His knees hit the ground hard enough to scrape against the jagged edge of another empty beach. Gaping craters flooded over with sea water where large feet had trampled this once beautiful getaway into a warzone, the tracks leading back to the dark waves of an ocean holding millennia of secrets beneath its black surface. Neil crawled to it, glaring hard at the wetness that stung on his scratched hands, wishing with everything in him that his slap to the surface might be reprimanding enough to send the Ocean reeling back from him, from this city, from this whole world. 

He felt the sniffle come, but he willed it back. He didn’t come here to cry more salty tears into the ocean. He didn’t come here to look at Kaiju footprints or destruction. He followed the strip of disappearing land back into the black void of an endless expanse of  _ nothing _ , right to the only object still standing tall in its still vortex. A metallic face stared back--uncaring, unkind, inhuman. Its thick armor still pulsed with the heat of battle, salty water evaporating on contact with its long legs. A cloud thick with moisture gathered in a halo about it--a  _ Jaeger _ . His very first  _ Jaeger _ !

_ You saved us...you really did it. K-- _ ”Hey! Hey, kid!”

Neil woke violently. The sting of the sea water lingered on his hands in a soreness that couldn’t be washed away so easily.  _ Not sea water, muscles. You’re not in California. You’re not on a beach. You’re _ \--”You can’t sleep in the hangar, kid. Don’t you have a room in the barracks?”  _ In a hangar. You’re training to be a Jaeger pilot _ . _ Calm. Down. _

He took a deep, settling breath and focused his tired eyes on the stranger in front of him. Kind eyes were a sight in South Carolina’s Palmetto base, but dark doe eyes stared at him in a mix of worry and confusion, only interrupted by long lashes and stray black curls. Tan skin sat dark against a faded pink tank top. The rest of the man was hidden beneath dark green coveralls standard to all--”Mechanic.”

His finder smiled a little generously, brushing a brunette strand away from his face. His gaze leveled with recognition, “oh, wait, I think I know you. The new cadet, right? Kevin’s kid.”

“Kevin’s not old enough to be my dad,” Neil answered thoughtlessly, internally punching himself. The man laughed like it wasn’t the asscrack of dawn in an abandoned hangar. 

“Certainly big enough, though! Here, let me help you up.” Standing up, the man stood a good five to seven inches taller than him, forcing him to hunch when he offered Neil a hand up. He took it and let the Mechanic draw him to his feet with one hard tug. He brushed him off with a couple gentle strokes of equally dirty hands. “I didn’t think I’d happen upon a handsome stranger on my way home for the night. Guess we all get lucky sometimes.”

_ Home? At this hour? _ “What time is it?”

The Mechanic pursed his lips. “Really?” He grumbled something about pilots and manners as he drew a comm from his pocket. Its backlight lit his face in an unearthly blue glow, just like the--”oh, three-thirty-three, the end of witching hour! Guess today really  _ is _ lucky.”

Witching hour? Neil shook his head. He only had a couple hours before Kevin would be pounding on his door, yelling creative threats to get his feet moving and ass in gear. “I have to go.” He made to bolt, but a hand stopped him with fingers around his wrist. Neil glared at the offender, wondering if it would be considered assault if he knocked him flat on the basis of  _ I really don’t appreciate being touched in dark corridors _ . “Let go.”

He did. He held his hands up in surrender by his head. “Hey, whoa, no need to freak! I was  _ just _ gonna see where you needed to go. These fields are kinda confusing at night.” Neil noticed the dip in his tone, but he wrote it off to almost getting his ass kicked. 

“I’m good,” he said in lieu of polite rapport, turning on a heel and looking around for the exit. He headed in the direction that seemed right, ignoring the footsteps behind him. For the last few weeks, he’d been training in nothing  _ but _ combat. Every day, at oh-nine-hundred sharp, he was set up across from Andrew with only a simple stick to defend him from a fucking maniac for two whole hours, and then, he was left to fend for himself  _ without _ a weapon while Andrew did his own thing and the rest of the campus did theirs--until twenty-two-hundred sharp, when Kevin whapped on his door until he agreed to come out and participate in long nights losing again and  _ again _ to a man who was not only using his bad hand, but also a whole  _ year _ out of practice. If this fucker thought he was above using those new skills to subdue him in favor of a quicker get away, he was  _ dead wrong _ .

But the Mechanic kept his distance. He fell off the radar completely when Neil raced around a corner, hugging his uniform to his sides against the wind of an incoming storm. He ignored the misty humidity of clouds at ground level, ducking his head and letting his tired legs carry him across campus in a hasty jog. The more he woke up, the more the pain registered. 

Tonight, Kevin had been  _ ruthless _ . Three weeks without results did that to a champion. Every hit had come like Neil was an enemy, not a student, the experienced pilot dancing around him like a ballerina taunting an audience. The stave had moved like an extension of himself, twirling at the same time Kevin did, the wood light in his nimble fingers. Even one-handed, his control never slipped. Even seething and foaming at the mouth in rude, angry French, he’d knocked Neil’s feet from under him without using a pinch too much pressure; whacked his chest just hard enough to stumble him back into a blow aimed exactly for the curve of his spine, and jabbed at him until Neil was more anger than he was rationality. 

_ Keep your fingers loose, Neil! Come on, what the fuck have we been doing for weeks? _ His knuckles had been white around the thin wood, his movements exaggerated and vulnerable. Every time he struck out, it was to  _ hurt _ and every time, Kevin diverted his efforts like they were rehearsed--block, strike, repeat. Worst of all, Andrew had sat there in the room, cross-legged like a child watching Saturday morning cartoons, clapping his hands and making unnecessary commentary for an audience only he could see. 

When Neil could no longer feel his fingers, arms burning with a stretch that would take days to loosen, and Kevin let loose enough to smack him to the ground, neither had waited for him to get up. Neil had no plans of even trying. He was determined to lie there, face first in the mat and let the plastic suffocate him under the weight of his own anger. He remembered thinking,  _ how could this have  _ **_possibly_ ** _ been my idol? He’s such an asshole! How did he save  _ **_anyone_ ** _ with a fucking attitude like that? _

He’d laid there in the middle of the room for what felt like hours, waiting until anger gave way to fatigue before he finally eased back to his feet, every sinew and fiber screaming at him to  _ not _ . Not to move. Not to struggle. Not to  _ exist _ . But he did. He  _ always _ did, pushing through the pain to his room where Matt and Dan were busy talking about  _ something _ that sounded important enough not to interrupt. From there, he’d found his way one step at a time out of the barracks and as far from the training halls as possible, not realizing he was running until his chest was seizing and his legs giving out on hard concrete in front of the hangar. 

_ That’s why I had the dream _ , he reassured himself. It was the emotion, not the memory. He was angry, his sweat was salty in his mouth, the pain was real in his body. It was all real--the dream was  _ not _ . It was just a  _ dream _ . Just a--”hey, Cadet, wait up!” Neil verbally groaned and turned on the mechanic. 

“What do you want?” Doe eyes widened, then returned to normal. His gaze averted, like he was used to being scolded. Neil couldn’t  _ imagine _ why. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“Yeah, I know, I just…” He held out a jacket that looked like it’d seen better days. “Here. Ain’t much, but it’ll keep you out of trouble.” When Neil just stared, he explained, “cadets aren’t allowed to leave after curfew. This way, if anyone stops you, they’ll just think you’re a mechanic.” He accepted the coat and looked at its army green polyester. His eyes lingered on the pocket and the name embroidered above it. 

“Hemmick.”

“Nicky,” the Mechanic--Nicky--corrected. “You can call me Nicky.”

Neil stared at him for a moment before he shrugged on the too-big jacket. “Thanks, Nicky.” Without another word, he stalked back across the campus. His soured mood felt only more dour when he realized it was already oh-four-hundred. He wasn’t sure when he actually got to sleep at the foot of a Jaeger, but he imagined it wasn’t long enough to justify as  _ sleep _ . A nap, maybe, if he was feeling generous. 

Allowing himself a sigh, he snuck around the backside of the building and along the bottom floor to an unguarded smoking entrance. Testing the lock, he finally breathed when no blaring alarms sounded into the building. He thanked his lucky stars for chain smokers and slunk along the basement to the stairs back to the second level, taking them two at a time back to his room. He carded in and opened the door without so much as a creak, then tip toed back to his bed and stripped out of his gear and into his usual baggy clothes before he huddled up under the covers and willed himself back to sleep. 

The knock came what felt like  _ minutes _ later. Neil had  _ just _ settled into a nice, dreamless sleep when Matt was groaning and cursing Kevin’s name with every expletive in the English language. He added some from French and German in his head, opening blurry brown eyes with an intense burn. 

Oh. 

Right.

He left his contacts in.  _ Perfect _ . 

Rubbing at puffy, restless eyes, Neil got out of bed and quickly shrugged into a change of clothes appropriate for morning training. Across the room from him, Matt stared at him like he was a hallucination. “Neil?”

“Yeah? Who did you expect?” He shook his head and grabbed his contacts case from his duffel bag, shoving it in his pocket. He grabbed his wallet and keycard, shoving them both in his other pocket while he grabbed some spare cash and made sure the lock on his dresser was set and firmly in place. 

Matt shrugged. “You’re not usually a late riser.” Neil stiffened where he was hunched low by his drawer, glaring up at his roommate. Every instinct in him was thrumming to high tail it out of there.  _ He knows. He knows your habits. He knows your schedule. He knows  _ you _. _

He took a deep, steadying breath. “I was out late. Training with Kevin.”

“Oh.” Matt’s tone was dismissive, accepting that answer as fact without a single note of distrust. Neil counted himself lucky he was tired, filing this whole interaction off as shit to deal with after he’d gotten his ass handed to him for the  _ umpteenth _ time by Andrew Minyard. 

He was content with that decision, letting it lull him into a moment of rare security. His roommate was perceptive, yes, but he was also easily distracted. Matt was certainly smart, empathic, and a damn good fighter, but he was just as late as Neil was and not very good at hiding it. He lurched with each movement, grabbing his equipment for the day, shoving his things into deep pockets with full-body yawns while long fingers worked knots out of his dark hair. He rubbed at his sore eyes and almost tripped over a piece of clothing on the-- _ fuck _ !

Neil tried to grab it before Matt could, but he failed. He failed and he was  _ fucked _ and  _ goddammit, Abram, what the  _ **_fuck_ ** _ did I tell you about putting everything away every fucking ti-- _ ”uh...Neil? Why do you have a Mechanic’s jacket?”

“I--”

Matt turned it around and stared hard at the nametag. “Hemmick?” He blinked at him. “Why do you have  _ Nicky’s _ jacket?” Why did he suddenly sound so much more awake? 

_ You’re an idiot, Abram. _ Neil briefly wondered how much falsehood constituted a  _ white lie _ and a bigger, darker one. Which was easier to maintain with someone who  _ clearly _ wasn’t going anywhere?  _ Mom didn’t prepare me for curious roommates _ . He was never even supposed to  _ have _ a room to keep a mate  _ in _ !  _ Ever _ ! 

_ Alright, Neil, you can do this _ . He took a deep, even breath and lied, “it was late. He said I’d need it not to get in trouble.”  _ Fuck, that was the truth! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-- _

“Oh, well, you should make sure he gets it back before Seth sees that. I swear he has it out for the guy. Cannot  _ stand _ him.” He shook his head like he just could not fathom how anyone could possibly hate the guy and grabbed his own jacket, slipping it on. It was an  _ official _ bomber jacket, only given to  _ certified _ pilots. Just like the one Kevin wore. Just like the one Neil was gunning for. 

He stared a moment too long without answering. Matt was already at the door, blinking at him with the door partially open. “Neil, you coming? Don’t wanna be late.” 

He shook himself from his stupor, double checking all his pockets and making sure he had his keycard before following him out. Together, they made short work of the walk to the training room. Inside, Officer Wymack already stood by the mat, an unlit cigarette between his teeth and angry scowl formally in place. His dark eyes glanced at them, pulling out the cancer stick and shoving it back behind his ear for later. “Congratulations,” he drawled, “you’re the first to arrive.”

“And here I thought we’d be late!” Matt cheered, slapping Neil on the back. He almost fell over midstep, biting back a shout of pain. There were undoubtedly bruises on his back from getting laid flat so many times last night. Especially the one time Kevin lifted him right off his feet and slammed him back down. That one was gonna be there for a  _ while _ . 

Wymack stared at him and evidently decided it wasn’t worth it. “Lucky you. Kevin was in a shit mood this morning.”

“Uh, no offense, but does he  _ have _ a good mood?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” Dan said as she came into the room, jacket tied around her waist. She was so different from his mother. All muscle atop her curves, lean and strong like a log. But even with her hair cropped short, she was clearly a woman and she did nothing to hide that fact. Anyone stupid enough to think she was weak was a dead man. Matt probably knew that better than anyone after days being laid flat by her staff. “He has a permanent stick shoved up his ass. All that overstimulation and edging must be getting to him.”

Matt blinked at her with a look somewhere caught between disgust and fondness. All he said was, “ew.” 

She shrugged in a,  _ tell me about it, _ gesture. “Yeah.” 

Wymack rolled his eyes and sipped on some booze from his flask. He’d given up on trying to hide it after day two. “Fuck him. Focus on the goal. Get your sticks and get to work. I’m sending you up to simulations early today. Renee and Allison are going to be train--”

“Wait,  _ the _ Renee and Allison? Like, Renee Walker and Allison Reynolds?!” While Matt looked excited, Dan rolled her eyes. 

“Seriously? Is this your idea of a joke, Coach?” Wymack glared at the recent nickname, but knew better than to comment by now. 

“No. They’re the best pilots we have at our disposal. You’re going to be polite and cordial. You’re gonna say yes, sir, no, sir, and you’re gonna smile like you care more about being a fucking pilot than stupid fucking past rivalries, Wilds. If you can’t do that, I’ll find your replacement before night’s end.”

She scoffed, but didn’t call him on his bullshit. “Yes, sir,” she sneered. Beside her, Matt bit back a smile. 

It disappeared completely when Kevin came stomping in with a smiling Andrew and scowling Seth behind him. The short and tempered blond had a lit cigarette between his lips, taking drags off it and letting them out in careless puffs for the whole group to walk through. Kevin was glaring at his back like he wanted to rip his spine out through his skull and set the remaining flesh on fire, then sweep his ashes into a nice pile to send back to his relatives with a little message that said,  _ I hope you all fucking die for bringing this trash-heaping piece of shit into my life _ . Seth didn’t look much better. His mood--which was perpetually in an up and down game of hot and cold--was at a very low down. Which was to say that someone was  _ probably _ dying tonight. 

Neil should’ve just stayed in the fucking hangar. 

“Well, aren’t you three cute. Get lost?” Kevin turned that emerald glare on Wymack with a fucking  _ vengeance _ . 

“Eat me, fucker.” Any reasonable officer would’ve probably gotten mad. Wymack simply rolled his eyes and shifted his glare to the staves littering the floor. 

“Upset? Why not pick up a staff and do yourself a favor.” He jerked his head at Seth. When Andrew came to a stop, he went over and held a hand out for his cigarette. He lit his own with the Blond’s, then gave it back and puffed his to life with a grateful sigh. He glared back at Kevin. “Fight Seth. You can take your anger out on each other.” 

“Fuck you,” Seth seethed as Kevin literally growled.

Green slanted to Seth in disgust. “I keep telling you--”

“Yeah? And I keep vetoing your decision. You’ve been telling him how bad he is this whole time, time for Mr. Pro to step up and prove he’s worth his stats.” Wymack did him the effort of grabbing a staff, tossing it to him effortlessly. Kevin caught it in his right hand, leer venomous. 

“I have nothing to prove.”

“Sure you do!” The Officer stepped back and crossed his arms behind his back. “You told Seth day one that being a pilot is all about the lives you save and the person you slave away for. What good is a pilot without a partner, right? Well, you’re partnerless, Kevin Day. You’re a good-for-nothing waste of space standing here pretending to be something he ain’t. You’re broken goods, handed to me because no one else wanted--”

“You shut your  _ fucking _ mouth!” The clang sounded loud in the room. Wymack caught his blow one-handed, high enough toward the end to keep Kevin’s ferocity momentarily at bay. He took a drag of his cigarette and removed it with his free hand before blowing out his own infuriating gust of smoke. “You don’t know  _ shit _ , Old man!”

“And you do?” He scowled and shoved Kevin back with a well-placed pivot forward. The Pilot was smart enough to disengage, stepping back in preparation for another attack. Wymack tossed another stick to Seth. The Brunet caught it, grip white-knuckled and angry. “Prove it. Show us all what a Pro’s life is worth. Go ahead.” 

Dan and Matt halted their practice to watch Kevin and Seth circle each other. They moved so differently. Kevin was like a cat--he stalked and prowled. His green eyes watched his opponent without moving, settled on their eyes, captivating and aggressive. Seth moved like a dog. He growled and bravado’d with his chest puffed out and teeth bared, eyes calculating where to strike and what weakness to exploit. The obvious one was Kevin’s left side--a mistake Neil had already made and one Seth was about to learn. 

As soon as he struck out, Kevin blocked him with a slap of wood on wood, hard enough to rattle Seth’s back. “Coward,” he spat viciously. “You think no one’s gone after my injury before? You’re fucking pathetic.”

“No wonder Riko wanted you dead,” Seth growled back. “You’re always fucking talkin’ like you know some shit. You prol’ly annoyed the bitch so much, he’d rather you dead than--”

“You don’t know  _ shit _ !” Seth moved faster than he had since this all began. He caught Kevin’s forward stab and twisted away from his secondary jab, feet dancing to the left and jerking a whap toward his back. Kevin swept it away in a twirl of his own, finishing in a defensive stance ready at a moment’s notice to be offensive. “Oh, so  _ now _ you’re fucking trying. I  _ hate _ you!”

Neil watched, rapt, as the two went at each other. Despite all the anger and repulsion, they were both steady in their strikes. There was a method to the madness, feigning one way just to attack another. Parrying into a counter, then blocking a repeat offense. Their footwork was impeccable, too, like trained dancers choreographed in a performance. When Kevin swept his staff for Seth’s feet, he jumped to the side and aimed right for where Kevin’s head was bound to be. When Seth aimed a roundhouse kick for his chest, Kevin caught his foot in his arm, aimed a jab for his opponent’s throat and growled when Seth caught the attack to leverage him away. 

It was a constant attack, deflect; attack, deflect. If someone got a hit in, the other person got one back. If this were a real match, the score would be neck and neck with no one sure who would take the game. Neil didn’t. He thought Kevin would wipe the floor with Seth’s exaggerated attacks, but Wymack was right--Seth was  _ good _ . Apparently, the motivation to kill Kevin was all the trigger he needed to show them his true potential. 

Neil rolled his eyes. “They’re such dumbasses.”

Beside him, Andrew blew a puff of smoke at his cheek and casually rested his elbow on his shoulder, like they were suddenly  _ friends _ or something. His tone, though, was hardly familiar. “Jealous, Junkie?” 

He glared. “Why would I be jealous?”

He gestured with his cigarette at Kevin and Seth. An hour had already passed--Dan and Matt had returned to their own sparring--but they were still going. “You were hoping you could be his co-pilot this whole time, and now, Seth Gordon comes swooping in like some Prince from a fairytale and sweeps Princess Kevin Day up for himself. Look at them, they’re practically soulmates.” Neil didn’t want to see it, but it was  _ obvious _ . The way they moved. The way they played to each other’s strengths and weaknesses. 

Neil frowned. “So?”

“Green is an ugly color on you, Junkie. You already have a partner. Give up on Kevin Day and give up on your dream.”

That certainly got his attention. “Oh, do you mean  _ you _ ? Why would I want  _ you _ as a co-pilot? You don’t care!”

Andrew ignored his rant, as he was wont to do. “Why do  _ you _ care so much, Junkie? What’s in it for you, if not Kevin Day? Is there any reason to pilot without him? Will you quit if he chooses Seth over you?” 

Neil went silent. This was too personal, even for a normal person. He couldn’t look Andrew in the eye and lie, either. He wasn’t as gullible as Matt, not as dismissive as Wymack. If he veered too far off the trail, he’d sniff up the tracks and put things together for himself. Neil didn’t know which was worse. Telling him or him finding out. Either way, the result would mean dropping everything and going back on the run, dodging out of town and returning to a life living from one corner to the other, only stolen goods and a binder of stolen moments to his name. Maybe not even that. He might have to give up his name, too. Change his hair, his eyes, his accent. He might even have to flee to another country. 

He shook his head, not realizing he was hyperventilating until he felt Andrew’s claw-like hand clamped on the back of his neck. His grip was somehow stabilizing. It was tight, painful, grounding. He touched his fingers and took a broken breath. He inhaled to the count of ten in german, exhaled to the count of ten in French. He did it again, letting Andrew’s presence be the anchor that held him in place amongst an ocean of torrid emotions. 

Andrew’s hazel gaze was searching and curious. “You continue to intrigue me, Josten, but I’ll get disinterested eventually.” He let him go with a scrape of nails. They left the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention, a shiver crawling errantly down his spine. 

Neil rubbed the heat lingering from his touch. “What happens, then? You gonna kill me?”

“Haven’t decided, yet.” The answer was dismissive, as was the look he slanted at Kevin and Seth. He clapped his hands three times in an obnoxiously petulant fashion, bringing the two to a grinding halt. They were both huffing, sweat dripping down their faces and to the mat below. Kevin’s hair was notably askew, while Seth pushed his back with shaky fingers. They looked at the Blond, scowls still present. 

Andrew grinned, all teeth and no cheer. “You two lovebirds done? You’re taking up the whole mat for your little couple’s spat.”

Kevin and Seth both growled. 

“Fuck  _ you _ , Andrew!”

“Say that again, you insane little  _ fuck _ !” 

They glared at each other, teeth bared and staves at the ready for round who knew what number. Fearlessly, Andrew stalked forward, dropping his cigarette on the floor and leaving it for someone else to stomp out. He pressed an index finger to each stick, keeping them directed away from each other as he gladly slipped between them to get at the littered pile of duplicates on the other side of them. He grabbed two and looked at one pilot, then the other before he tossed the staff over both their heads, making them each duck with a curse. Neil, thankfully, caught the projectile before it could cause any more harm to anyone else’s psyche. 

He looked down at it, then back at Andrew. His expression fell. “Is this you caring?”

“You should focus that pea brain of yours on staying standing and less on my cares.” Andrew twirled his staff with even more grace than Kevin. As hard as he hit, he did so without much effort behind it. It was something  _ else _ Neil envied. 

He steeled himself for the first attack. His staff slipped right out of his fingers with a cry of pain. Andrew actually looked a little thrown by the reaction, as did the rest of the room. Neil shook out his fingers and made a fist. Pain tore up every nerve ending. He swallowed this wince. 

Reaching down to grab his stick, he paused when another one crossed into his path. Andrew was on the other end of it, leaning his weight lazily atop it. His face was blank, but his eyes were on fire. “You can’t do that right now.”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Neil seethed. 

The Blond retaliated in kind, tipping his post just enough to slap his wrist. The pain had Neil on his knees, clutching the spot with his teeth clenched and voice a hiss in his ears. Andrew blinked stoically. He repeated, “you can’t do that right now.” 

Neil glared at him. “ _ Fuck _ you.” 

Andrew’s grin came slowly. “I keep telling you, I’m not interested. Are you deaf, or just dumb?”

“Guess I’m just sick of listening to your bitchy voice,” he spat venomously. Andrew actually chuckled, like something about his words was funny. Maybe to him it was. 

His sigh, though, was far from fond. “Oh, Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil.” He didn’t expect the sweep. It had him falling to the ground, with a quick whap pinning him to the floor. He struggled against the pressure, yelling when Andrew crouched down and removed his grip one agonizing finger at a time. “You’re so naive, Neil. Almost impressively so! Impressively stupid, that is. Naive and stupid.” He looked at his hands with a calculating smile. “Do you idolize Kevin that much?”

“What does it matter to you? This doesn’t matter, not to you, right?” 

“Oh, it doesn’t,” Andrew agreed easily. He slanted a look at Kevin and Seth. “But, you see, I  _ really _ don’t like problems and that attitude of yours--this  _ obsession _ \--is starting to seem like it’s going to be a problem. Is it, Neil? Should I be worried?”

Neil chose not to answer that, too. It was too loaded a question to even consider. There were too many variables and too many unknowns. It all depended on how long it took for someone to recognize him. How many days before a Kaiju came and a crew came through scavenging for parts? How many weeks before Kevin looked at him and remembered the little boy whose Father had diced a man with an axe for not delivering him Kaiju organs properly? It depended on if his Father’s People got a whiff of his mother’s death and if they believed him dead in the attack, too. Would they call off their search and black out the binder of hefty Moriyama money hidden in his locked drawer? Had someone seen him on that California beach, looking up at Kevin and Riko’s Jaeger like it was a way out? Did they hear his screams? His anger? His pain? 

How did Andrew know just what questions would get him spiraling? 

He took a deep breath and released it to the count of ten, in Russian this time. Andrew watched the action with critical eyes. Every flick was like a knife cutting another stitch, slowly sneaking beneath his carefully crafted lies and slicing toward the ugly truth within. He wished he could clench his eyes shut and hide under his blanket, holding his ears to block out the sound of human screams and howling pain. He wished that Andrew was just a nightmare he’d wake up from if he pinched his arm hard enough, but he wasn’t. He was living, breathing, and he was sitting there, determined to crack his shell and find out just why Neil Josten had run for ten years before deciding to only settle  _ now _ . 

His lack of answer, apparently, was answer enough for Andrew. 

He sat back on his heels and folded his hands between his knees, gaze unnervingly calm despite the twist in his lips. “What a shame, Neil. If we’re going to be partners, we need to be  _ honest _ with each other.”

He bristled with anger. “That’s not fair. You haven’t given me any reason to trust you, either.”

Andrew hummed thoughtfully. “I never lie.” 

“An omitted truth is still a lie,” Neil struck back. 

Andrew’s smirk grew. “Who told you that one?”

“My mom.” Andrew’s lips curled into something devious and scathing. 

“Finally, he speaks a truth. I would say I’m proud, but that  _ would _ be a lie.” He patted Neil’s face once and finally stood up. Behind him, the others looked caught between staring at them and teetering on the edge of breaking them up. 

_ Too late now _ . Neil felt his temper flare. “What? Never seen Andrew harass someone before?”

“Never seen someone walk away from it unscathed before,” Matt informed easily. “How’d you hurt your hands?”

Neil looked right at Andrew as he answered, “being stupid.”

Dan snorted. “C’mon, we don’t have time for this. Get your shit, Boyd. We’re wanted by our  _ teachers _ at the Simulators.” Wymack shot her a look that she gleefully returned with a single finger. 

As Matt passed him, he squeezed Neil's shoulder with a smile that was kinder than anything Neil had ever seen in the entirety of his twenty years. “You’re a brave soul, Neil. Stupid, but brave.” Then, he let him go and followed Dan out the door. 

Wymack looked at their remaining ranks and shook his head. “I think that’s enough for now. Neil, whatever the fuck you did to your arms, you better learn from this little demonstration. Andrew,” he turned a finger on the Blond, “no more fucking demonstrations. If you think there’s a problem with  _ my _ recruits, you bring it up with me.”

“Sure, Coach.” Neil sneered. 

“I thought you didn’t lie.” Andrew stared back, nonplussed. 

“Not a lie, Junkie.” Then he flicked his wrist hard enough to leave Neil doubled over in pain and left a breathy laugh in his wake. 

Seth glared at the door. “That midget is  _ fucked _ in the head.”

“Regardless of how insane he is, he’s the best recruit I’ve seen in years,” Kevin seethed, like it physically cut his insides out to admit that. He eased the sting with a sideways glare at Seth, “way better than  _ you _ .”

Wymack sighed, face falling flat into one large palm. “Oh, for fuck’s sake...you’re all dismissed. Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Neil didn’t wait to find out if that was a real dismissal or not. He bolted for the door and ignored the sting of his legs, letting them do what they craved for all day long. 

He ran. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope everyone stays safe and healthy!


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